The Lady in the Tower

by Виктория Холт

“No, sweet sister. Such goings-on are only shameful among the undistinguished. To be the mistress of a peasant is disgrace indeed, but to be the mistress of a King…well, that is a great honor.”

  “Don't be cynical, George. This is our sister, and after what happened to her at the Court of France one would have thought she would have been wise enough to see that it did not happen again.”

  “The Court of England is not the Court of France. Here there is a high moral tone. Amours are not flaunted here. François's affairs were too numerous for the people not to be aware of them. Our King is different. He would be a saint…if his nature would let him. François is more realistic. He knows he can never be a saint, even if he wanted to be… which he doesn't. He loves the world too well. So does Henry, but between you and me, Anne, he knows how to deceive himself. He feels very saintly since he wrote his book against Martin Luther, Assertio Septem Sacramentorum. It has earned him the title of Defender of the Faith. Mind you— again entre nous— Wolsey had a hand in it and Thomas More is responsible for a goodly part of it; but it is put forth as the King's work, and it shows him to be an upholder of the Church. You see, he wants to show the world that he is a good man. Half of him is…but we are all complex characters…you and I… and even His Grace the King. So … he tells himself that he is faithful to his Queen…in thought, he is…it is only these little forays on the side. And our Mary is at the center of one.”

  “How long has it been going on?”

  “Almost since she went to Court. He noticed her at once. Mary is like that, you know. Her appeal is immediate. It is not beauty…it is promise. I think that is the answer. That in some cases is the essence of the attraction between the sexes. I am ready. That is what Mary says: I am as eager as you. I want nothing but our union. It is only the satisfaction I can give you and you can give me, that I crave. There you have it, Anne— the secret of Mary's appeal to all men. Who could resist it? Certainly not the King.”

  “She has learned nothing from what happened in France!”

  “This is different from France. There, when the King threw her aside, she took lovers…anyone… openly. Men boasted that they shared the King's mistress. But there were so many of them that it became the talk of the Court. That was considered crude by the French. Not good manners… not polite behavior. That is the real sin over there. Mary is in her natural environment here. I don't see why she should not last quite a long time with the King.” He laughed at me. “Don't fret,” he went on. “You need never worry about Mary. She will always come up smiling. It is her nature.”

  “So our sister is the King's mistress. What does our father say?”

  “He says, ‘Well done, Mary.’ He is getting along well at Court. The King favors him. He has made a success of his embassies and more than that he has begotten a daughter who pleases the King.”

  “I would he had earned his success in some other way.”

  “The path to success is a thorny one, and the way is steep. There are many pitfalls. It is a fool who does not take advantage of a helping hand when it is offered.”

  “Oh, George, it is good to be with you and listen to your talk. I have often thought of it all. Do you remember the gardens with the Wyatts?”

  “I remember.”

  “Why have they brought me home? Do you know?”

  “They have a bridegroom for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Well…you probably didn't hear that a few years ago our great-grandfather, the Earl of Ormond, died. He left, in addition to his title, vast estates in Ireland. The inheritance was expected to come to the families of his two daughters—one of them our grandmother. Our father has long been expecting this. However, the Earl's second cousin, Sir Piers Butler, is claiming the estate.”

  “How can he do that? He is not on the direct line.”

  “It is rather complicated. It is an Irish peerage. The Earl took up his residence in England because he was tired of the continual conflict reigning in Ireland. Sir Piers is something of a brigand. He is suspected of having murdered another member of the family who might have a claim, so his intentions are obvious. He had been taking care of the Irish property and is one of the few lords there who can be trusted to work for the English against these tiresome people who have always—and always will—created trouble and mischief. So Sir Piers is in high favor at Court. In his will the Earl rewarded Sir Piers for his services but left his estates to his daughters’ heirs. The case was brought forward and Sir Piers was commanded to come to England and state his claims before a court of law. His reply was that he was too busy fighting the King's wars. This was true and as Ireland was—as usual—on the verge of rebellion and Sir Piers was one of the few men on whom Henry could rely, the King was loath to offend him. As a result, the case has hung fire while Sir Piers continues to use the land and revenues as though they belonged to him.”

  “What has this to do with my marriage?”

  “A great deal. Sir Piers has a son—James Butler. The King wants Sir Piers to stay working for him in Ireland. Therefore he must keep him happy. He was in a dilemma until our uncle Surrey came up with the suggestion that marriage was the answer to this dispute. Sir Piers has a son; our father has a daughter. If those two were brought together in matrimony, their offspring would naturally inherit the estates. Simple, it seemed to Surrey… and the King. It has been decided and, as Master Wolsey gives his approval to the plan, it is as good as accomplished.”

  I was furiously angry. I said: “They have settled it without asking the opinion of those two to whom it means most.”

  “It is the way of the world, sister.”

  “George, I will not have it. I will not be bartered like this.”

  “You will find it hard to stand against it, Anne.”

  “I will tell our father when I see him.”

  “It is not only our father. It has become a political matter. The King wishes it. Wolsey wishes it.”

  “What could they do to me if I refused?”

  “I do not think it would be wise to attempt to find out.”

  “But I won't have it, George! I won't have it!”

  He tried to soothe me. “Some arranged marriages work out very well. One man is very like another. You will make this James dance to your tune, I do not doubt.”

  “Among the Irish bogs?”

  He laughed. “A far cry from the Court of France, I'll swear.”

  “I'll not do it.”

  “Don't despair. It may be something will happen. You never know. Often life does not turn out the way it was planned.”

  “This is certainly not going to.”

  What I had learned had considerably dampened my pleasure in being home, although I had expected to hear something like this. Ireland! I had not thought of that. I could not imagine myself, after having grown accustomed to the elegance of the French Court, exiled into a savage land. I had read somewhere that it was populated by barbaric chiefs who roamed about the country bare-footed, wrapped in saffron-colored robes, making war for no reason at all except that it was a state they reveled in.

  I was shocked because my father was profiting from Mary's degradation. I remembered how violently he had spoken against her in France, how he had reviled her for her immoral conduct; now, it seemed, when it suited him, he applauded it.

  I thought of all the good that had come to him through his daughter's shame. True, he had been advancing in favor before Mary came along to help him on his way. I remembered hearing how he had been one of the four people to carry the canopy over the Princess Mary when she was christened. That was quite an honor. Soon after that he had been appointed Sheriff of Kent. All this before Mary. He had pleased the King and proved an able ambassador.

  I felt I wanted to escape from the cynical attitude to life where an action was deplored only when it did not bring material advantage.

  A few days later Thomas Wyatt came riding over from Allington.

  I was in the courtyard. He dismounted and, coming toward
me, lifted me in his arms and held me, looking up at me.

  “Anne! So my lady deigns to return to us at last.”

  “You haven't changed, Thomas,” I told him.

  “Did you expect me to? I'd always be the same to you.”

  He set me down and we stood for a moment regarding each other.

  He was tall and, if not exactly handsome, very attractive. Memories came flooding back. I remembered how much I had cared for him.

  “As soon as word reached me that you were here, I had to come,” he said.

  “How is everyone at Allington? Your sister Mary?”

  “Mary is well. You will see her soon. But I was impatient. I had to come at once.” His eyes ranged over me. “So elegant,” he said. “Indeed the Court lady. So this is what the French have done to you.”

  “I was a long time there, Thomas.”

  “To our loss.” He took my hand—the one with the sixth nail—and kissed it. “Do not leave us again,” he said.

  “Come into the house.”

  “One moment…Let us be alone… for a while.”

  We sat on one of the benches close to the wall where the creeper grew. It was like going back in time to be there with Thomas.

  “George is here?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And rejoicing to have his sister home, I doubt not.”

  “He says so.”

  “We were a pleasant company, were we not? I often think of the old days in Kent and Norfolk.”

  “It seemed like fate that our two families should be together in the two counties… almost as though it had been arranged.”

  “Whoever arranged it grew careless… sending you to France. You must never go away again.”

  “They are planning to send me away now. I won't have it. Do you know about this Butler affair?”

  He nodded. “It is not just a family affair. It's political. The King wants the Butlers to fight for him in Ireland.”

  “Therefore I and this poor young man have been chosen to unite the warring factions.”

  “It's an old story, Anne.”

  “It may be but I do not intend to be taken up and used to bring it to the required ending.”

  “If your sister had not married, she would have been the one.”

  “Perhaps Mary would not have minded,” I said bitterly. “This James Butler is a man… that is all she would ask.”

  “Well, Mary has gone her way and that leaves you. But Ireland! It is a wild and savage place.”

  “I have made up my mind not to go.”

  “Your father will insist, I fear.”

  “And so shall I.”

  “They will force you, Anne.”

  “Can people be forced to take marriage vows?”

  “It has been known. What of all the princesses who have been brought to their stranger bridegrooms and all the young men who have been presented with their brides. It is the penalty of position. It is one of the burdens which families like ours are called upon to bear.”

  “I will not bear it.”

  “Have you seen your prospective bridegroom?”

  “Oh, they did not think it necessary that I should! They plighted my troth in my absence.”

  He turned to me and taking my chin in his hands looked searchingly into my eyes. “There is no one like you,” he said. “So perhaps you will succeed where others have failed.” Then he kissed me on the forehead. “Anne, why did you not come back sooner?”

  “To be thrust into marriage at an earlier age?”

  “No. That I might have shown the same spirit as you will. Now that you have come back, I remember so much. When I came, whom did I look for first? It was always Anne with the serious probing eyes and the wild black hair. George and I were the blustering braves, were we not? We looked down on our little girls… but my heart was always lifted at the sight of you… and so will it always be.”

  “I think I looked for you, too. I admired you… and George, of course. You were the heroes—we girls your minions. I loved your sister Mary. She was comforting to be with…but the excitement came from you and George.”

  “If they had not sent you away…it would not have happened. I should have stood out against it. It was advantageous, you see. My father thought it an ideal match. I was careless, forgetful …I thought it had to happen some day. What I am trying to tell you, Anne, is that I have a wife.”

  “Thomas! You!”

  He nodded somberly.

  “When?” I asked. “And who?”

  “Just over a year ago. She is Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas Brooke, Lord Cobham.”

  “Congratulations. A worthy match.”

  “My family considers it to be.”

  “And you…are happy?”

  He looked at me sadly and said: “There is only one who could make me happy… completely.”

  I did not answer. I was rather moved by Thomas; I was certain that I could easily have fallen in love with him and I felt a bitter disappointment that he was married. If it had not been for the political elements in this Butler affair, Thomas Wyatt might have been considered a worthy husband for me. I pictured weeks of exhilarating courtship—Thomas would ride over from Allington to woo me. But my father had risen beyond Sir Henry Wyatt in the King's favor and would, no doubt, in accordance with Boleyn tradition have wished for a greater marriage for his daughter even though the Wyatts were old friends, good neighbors and of excellent family. But what was the use of thinking thus? Thomas was married and I was destined for Sir James Butler.

  He repeated then: “Oh, why did you not come back earlier?”

  “Where are you living now?” I asked. “At Allington?”

  “I am mostly at Court. I have a post there.”

  “What post is that?”

  “I am one of the Esquires of the King's Body.”

  “Then you know Will Carey well?”

  “I do.”

  “And you must see my sister frequently.”

  He nodded.

  “You know, of course.”

  “That she is the King's mistress? Everyone knows, but no one refers to it. The King likes to keep his little peccadillos secret and as you know we must all bow to his wishes.”

  “Life is lived more simply in the country,” I said.

  “But you would not want the simple life. You would soon grow tired of it. The intrigues at Court … the excitement… the fighting for one's position and the even harder battle to keep it… that is what we enjoy. There are the masques which I help to devise… The King loves nothing better than a masque in which we wear disguises. No disguise could hide his identity, of course, but he likes to think it is possible, and he has great delight in revealing himself: ‘It is your King!’ he cries and everyone gasps with feigned astonishment, pretending to try to remember if they had been guilty of lèse majesté … knowing full well they have uttered nothing but what the King wanted most to hear, being aware all the time to whom they were speaking. It is a farce…a game of pretense; but it gives me a chance to hear my verses spoken and sung. You should come to Court, Anne. Your father must find a place for you.”

  “He has found a place for me…in Ireland.”

  “It must be delayed as long as possible.”

  “I fear it will not be. They have brought me home for this, but I shall not let it happen. I will not be told whom I am to marry. When I marry I shall choose my husband.”

  “Anne… would you have chosen me?”

  I drew back from him. “You chose to marry…so how could I?”

  “If you had been here…”

  “It is too late to take that view. What does it matter what I should have done if it is not possible for me to do it?”

  He shook his head sadly. Then he said: “I have a son, Anne. He is not yet a year old.”

  “Again congratulations. That must be very gratifying.”

  “I admit to a fondness for the child.”

  “I must come to Allington to see him and to mee
t your wife.”

  My brother was coming out into the courtyard.

  “Oh, so you are there, Tom,” he said. “What do you think of my sister?”

  “A very grand lady with Frenchified airs.”

  “Exactly my view. Have you caught up on old times?”

  Thomas nodded. “I have been upbraiding her for staying away so long.”

  “Come in,” said George. “My stepmother heard your arrival; she has some of her own wine to offer you. Now, Tom, you must let her know you like it. She is proud of her brews.”

  And as we went into the house I was thinking of the old days and Thomas and what might have been.

  When my father arrived at Hever, I expected the storm to break.

  George had gone back to Court and so had Thomas Wyatt. I had been over to Allington and renewed my friendship with Mary Wyatt. I had found a certain peace in our gardens which I had always loved in the past. I rode out quite often. I should have had a groom with me. My stepmother worried about this but I assured her I was quite able to take care of myself, and she was always anxious not to impose her authority upon me.

  She used to busy herself in the kitchens. I think she was not yet accustomed to living in a house like ours. She came of good yeoman stock; her father was a landowner, but we had become very grand since my father was doing so well at Court—and, I thought bitterly, since Mary had found such favor in the very highest place.

  My stepmother never referred to that aspect of Mary's life, though she had grown fond of her as she had of us all.

  From my window I saw my father arrive. He traveled in some state, as became a gentleman of his importance. He was on terms of friendship with both Cardinal Wolsey and the King. He had kept the French wondering which way England was going to turn and he had completed a successful mission at Oudenarde with the Emperor Charles. He was rich; honors had been showered upon him. That made me angry. Could he not forget the Butler revenues for the sake of his daughter's happiness? Apparently not.

  When I heard of his successes and his growing wealth, I was more determined than ever to stand firm against his attempt to use me to add to them.

  I was expecting to be given instructions as to what I must do and was amazed when there was no mention of this—until I understood the reason.